Begin Again | on hold

twenty-eight

"Why are you making coffee at two o'clock in the morning?"

"Because we've got a game of Monopoly to finish and if I don't have a coffee right now, I'm not sure I'll make it to the end of the game." She reaches past Sunny to open the fridge and takes out blue top milk; from a spice rack behind the kettle she plucks a pot of whole cinnamon sticks; from a drawer beneath the oven, she pulls out a small saucepan.

"What're you doing?"

"Making co— wait, you've never had the Viv special, have you?"

"Not to my recollection," Sunny says. "But it looks like it has cinnamon, so I'm sure I'll like it."

"It should probably be called the Sunny special, seeing as I invented it for you," Viv says. "You know, before we met, I never had anything but a splash of milk in my coffee. Then you came along and changed everything." Turning on another hob, she fills the pan with creamy full fat milk and drops in three cinnamon sticks, moving it over the heat as the milk comes to the boil and slowly infuses.

"The Sunny special? I like the sound of that." The words come out quiet, slipping through Sunny's smile. Warmth blossoms in her chest as she watches the love that Viv pours into every movement, slowly stirring the milk and checking the percolator.

"Because Sunny's special," she says.

"Sunny's a bit of a twat," Sunny says, "but she's trying."

"Sunny sounds like a bit of a twat right now," Viv agrees. "Viv isn't sure about the whole third person thing."

A coy grin twitches its way onto Sunny's lips as she says, "Sunny's sorry."

Viv throws a tea towel at her, which she catches and slings over her shoulder like a barmaid in a western film.

"The Monopoly board's in the drawer under the telly," Viv says. "There's a pad on the coffee table with all the details of where we left off. You get it set up and I'll make coffee and then I'll defeat you in ten rounds or less."

"Impossible."

*

"Fuck this fucking shit, I hate this dumb stupid capitalistic cunt of a game." Sunny scowls as she counts her cash – a pile of ones and fives – and mortgages the last of her properties, which is nowhere near enough to pay the debt she owes Viv.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure it was invented as a critique of capitalism. Now pay up," Viv crows, holding out an elegant hand for everything that Sunny owns. "I think I just won."

"I can come back from this," she growls to herself, grimacing at the sea of red in front of her. She's mortgaged up to the hilt, all of her houses and hotels sold to pay the bills from the last time she landed on Viv's property, with no wiggle room.

"Babe, you literally have nothing. You are out of the game. There is literally no way forward for you with no money and zero assets to your name." Viv places an imaginary crown atop her hair. "You may call me queen. Bow to me, Sunshine."

With a grumble, Sunny gets up off the floor (the sofa wasn't close enough to the board and she didn't want to miss a thing) and as she collects up their mugs, she gives a sarcastic bow.

"Congratulations, my queen. You win the spikiest massage of your life." Hooking the mugs over her thumbs, she curls her fingers like claws.

"Now, now, don't be a sore loser." Viv winks and says, "It sounds like you can't wait to have your hands all over me."

Sunny blushes. It's a painful kind of blush, where her face is so hot and red that it itches and she can feel her ears. She can never feel her ears. Not unless they're bright as a beacon. She turns away and washes the mugs in the sink, running her hands under cold water to cool herself down.